


The Wild Wind and the Hissing Rain

by juniperjamboree



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Farmer Derek, M/M, Witchcraft, no porn/minimal kissing, realistic witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperjamboree/pseuds/juniperjamboree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his car breaks down and Derek takes him in for a few days, Stiles leaves his city slicker ways to learn a bit about what it means to live out in the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wild Wind and the Hissing Rain

"No no no come on baby, don't do this to me." Stiles begged. It had been a long day and he was exhausted, just done. "Oh come on no." Shaking the steering wheel, he pulled off to the side of the road. Smoke leaked out from under his car's hood, dark and sinister. 

On the side of the road where he had pulled over was a field of corn. This wasn't surprising. There was also a field of corn on the other side of the road. This was just as it had been for miles. Miles! Stiles was sick to death of corn fields. If he had a lighter or a match or even just some flint he would burn the fields down. If he never saw a stalk of corn again in his life he would die happy. But, he thought, he was obviously not meant to be happy. Not today.

Stumbling out of his car and onto the two lane road, he rushed toward the engine. Carefully putting up the hood, he coughed into the crook of his elbow as more smoke rushed up at him. Now Stiles liked to imagine that he was good at working with cars, he had taken a little shop class with Scott before they had gone off to college. Unfortunately for Stiles it really was pure imagination. He was shit when it came to cars, just the worst. With one hand over his mouth he flapped the other uselessly through the hot smoke, trying to do...something. Anything really. 

The sun was low on the horizon, and Stiles was long overdue to eat some dinner. The last town had been a few miles back, and the next one wasn't for about five. Five isn't a whole lot of miles when you're driving a jeep alone with the radio blasting, but it was a lot when you were kind-of-sort-of lost and looking at having to make the hike on foot. Luckily, Stiles was a forward thinking sort of guy who had brought so many snacks. Which is to say, his father is a very kind and generous man who made sure Stiles had enough food with him as he drove back across the country to school. 

Leaning over his seat he rummaged blindly in the center divider before grabbing onto a protein bar with one hand and some dried banana chips with the other. "At least something's going right" he muttered. Taking a big bite from the bar, he grabbed for his phone.

"Oh fuck." 

His phone. His phone that he had just plugged into the car charger because it was dying. His phone that was still attached to the car charger with which he had found out a few miles back didn't work. His dead phone with his broken charger.

Stiles stepped back and out into the road.

He took a deep breath.

He screamed.

"What the fuck!" was the gist of the outburst, but it is doubtful any passerby would have understood those exact words. Stiles for his part was mostly producing loud scream like noises compiled with a variety of growls and, finally, one long sigh. Accepting defeat, he laid down.

There in the middle of the road, lying on the back, he slowly ate the banana chips as the sun set. The chips were actually pretty good, but even with them and the bar he was still hungry. All day he had been driving and snacking, stopping for a sandwich at lunch but not a real meal. He wanted a real meal. He deserved a real meal. Instead, all he got was some stale fruit and another night of sleeping in his car. The corn fields freaked him out, and the long shadows cast by the golden sun sent a tingle up his spine. Slowly sitting up, he stretched his weary muscles. His throat was sore from his tantrum earlier, and he was out of water. Just his luck.   
Rubbing the palm of his hands into his eyes, he tried his best not to freak out. The pressure made colors and shapes dance across his dark vision. They were bright and jumpy and, weirdly enough, honking at him. 

He scrambled to his feet and stared into the blinding headlights of the car parked in front of him. Shielding his face, he tried to get a view of the car or the person driving it or anything. His eyes were too blinded though, and he merely squinted at the intrusion into his pity party.

"Are you alright?" the disembodied glowing voice asked.

"Oh yeah, I always like to lay in the middle of the road when I'm feeling my best." He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. The headlights turned off and slowly his eyes adjusted.

"What's going on?" The now perfectly embodied voice was visible. Tall, needed a shave, angry eye brows, and a very worried expression on his face, the man in front of him was the first person Stiles had seen in hours, and what a good sight. 

"My car stopped." Stiles gestured widely to his jeep, the hood still propped open and the drivers side door not quite closed. 

"You're not from around here, are you?" The man walked over to the car and took a look under the hood.

"No. Trying to get back to school." Stiles followed him over.

"Have you checked anything?" He unscrewed a cap or something and pulled out a long stick. 

"I am not really even sure what there is to check." Sighing, he leaned against the side of his car. It had been a long day. 

"Hmm." After wiping of the stick thing on his shirt (which, like, doesn't he care about his clothes even a little?) and then sticking it back in the hole and pulling it out again, he sighed. "Was it smoking when you pulled it over?"

"Yep. I've been trying to get her to stop, but, you know, old habits die hard." Stiles joked. The guy just huffed out what was maybe a laugh, but Stiles wasn't sure.

"You aren't getting anywhere in this tonight." The man lowered the hood gently. "I've got a couch if you want." 

"Oh! Yes, thanks, I appreciate it." Stiles wiped his hand on his pants and jutted it out abruptly to the guy. "I'm Stiles by the way." 

"Derek."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The handshake was firm but short, but Stiles did his best to gather as much information about Derek as he could: callused hands, firm grip, knew about cars. Not a lot of information, but it was something.

"Grab what you need, we'll tow the car to my place tomorrow." Derek had already begun to walk back to his own car as he spoke, so Stiles hurriedly grabbed his backpack, some clothes, and his phone.

The drive down the road was quite except for the pleasant buzz of the radio. It was too soft for Stiles to make out the words, but the melody floated gently by. The corn stretched on forever down the sides of the dark road. Slowing, Derek turned onto a dirt road Stiles hadn't even realized was there. To their left there was no longer corn, but a field of tall sunflowers, their petals tiny and their heads bulging. They kept driving until another road formed along the back side of the sunflower field, and there ahead of them was a house. 

The lights were all off, but in the waning light of the sun and the grasping light from the car, he could almost make it out. One story tall with a front porch that went across the whole front, it was short and sturdy. Clean but not manicured, the place spoke of home and a warm fire in the winter cold. If nothing else, Stiles thought, it didn't look like the sort of place an ax murderer would live.

Derek parked and lead the way to the front door. All sorts of potted plants surrounded the door and the deck. Too many to count by far, and each beautiful, green, and full. The door opened smoothly, unlocked and silent. Lights were flipped on and Stiles was drawn in like a moth. Soft cream walls spread the light from the ceiling lamp throughout the front room. 

"I don't have a guest room, but the couch is nice." It was a forest green couch with a quilt thrown over the back. Stiles set his bags by the end of it and kicked off his shoes. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, a bit." He followed Derek as he turned about and lead the way to, what Stiles hoped, was the kitchen. His presumption was proven right when they entered the gentle blue room. 

"Allergies?" Derek glanced back and Stiles shook his head. 

"Only to that adhesive stuff on band-aids." He leaned against the counter, the tile floor was cold beneath the his thin socks. Derek grabbed a butter knife from a draw and a glass container from the fridge. Cutting out a slice of the cornbread, he set it on a plate.

"Jam? Butter?" Stiles couldn't keep his eyes from wandering around the room.

"Butter please." Just like the rest of the place, the kitchen seemed warm. A candle sat on the oven, tall and gently burning. In the windowsill were even more plants, but these looked like herbs for sure. Containers lined the counters near the wall. Some had labels, but others just had little symbols on the sides.

"Here." Derek held out the plate to Stiles, there was even a fork balanced gently. "The table's over there. Do you want some tea?" He filled up a small black kettle that had been sitting on the stove before returning it and lighting the burner. 

"Okay, thank you." Were people normally this nice? Maybe it was a Midwestern thing. Kinda like Southern hospitality but more north and the tea isn't iced. Or maybe it was a clever trap and he really was a murderer. He sat down at the ridiculously large wooden table (seriously? one person did not need this much table) and looked at his food. At least it didn't look poisoned. Stiles shoved a bite of the cornbread into his mouth. "Zhesh s reely ghoed" he mumbled out around the bite of food still in his mouth. 

"Thanks." Derek was still fixing the tea, putting loose leaf stuff in a second pot and grabbing mugs. "It will take a moment for the tea to steep." Stiles kept an eye on the man as he shoveled the rest of the cornbread into his mouth. "So, what do you study at college?" He tilted his head to the side and leaned back against the counter. The younger man stretched out in his chair and yawned.

"Oh well, right now linguistics, but I also studied criminal justice as an undergrad." He twidled his thumbs a little and tried not to stare at his host. "Did you go to college?" The problem with that was that Derek was, well, attractive. 

"I studied history and agriculture, but that was a few years ago now." He turned around and poured the tea into their mugs. Carrying them over, he placed one in front of Stiles and then sat across from him at the long wooden table. "I prefer being out here."

"What exactly do you do out here?" Please don't say murder, please don't say murder, Stiles thought as quietly as he could. 

"Farm. I've got some animals but no real livestock." Derek closed his eyes when he took a sip of tea, they kind of crinkled at the corners, it was adorable. 

"That's cool. I've never had any pets really, a fish once, but it didn't do well. I was ten, so, not really the best time to become responsible for another life. Even if that other life does belong to a fish." He played with the mug as he talked, running a finger around the rim and gripping it gently with his other hand. Finally deciding to shut the hell up, he took a drink of tea. "What is this anyway?"

"A chamomile blend, it's good for relaxing and helping you get to sleep, among other things." Derek took another sip of the cryptically soothing tea. But as long as they were both drinking the same stuff, he figured, it couldn't hurt him. Plus, it tasted good.

By the last sip he could feel his eyelids getting heavy. Derek gathered up the mugs and gave them a quick wash, but Stiles hardly notice for all the effort he was putting into sitting up and staying awake. 

"Go ahead and have the couch. If you need me, I'm the door with the green piece of paper on it."

"Green. Gotchya." Sties rose and wobbled his way to the couch. Pulling a blanket over himself, he wriggled about for a moment to get comfortable before falling fast asleep.   
In the night, the animals moved about outside and the wind maker whispered sweetly. There was no traffic nor sirens. It was the sort of world children from cities read about in story books and try to recreate in their back yards. And although these children like to imagine the perfection of these moments, they forget that sunrise is early and the roosters don't give a flying fuck if the sun is actually up.

"COCKADOODLE DO MOTHERFUCKERS" the rooster outside screamed. Or at least that's what it sounded like to Stiles as he tumbled off the couch.

"Ah fuck." He scrambled about trying to untangle his legs from the boa constrictor of a blanket he had been using. A gentle light filtered in through the large window above the couch. The world slowly came into color as he sat himself upright, still on the floor but no longer tangled up and disoriented. Or at least, mostly not disoriented. Car. Derek. House. Right, yesterday was a mess. Today didn't seem to be starting off any better. 

"Morning." Stiles glanced up to where the voice was coming from. On the other side of the kitchen counter stood Derek, soft and warm in the morning sun and blue shirt.

"Breakfast?"

"Mhmm." He hummed slowly, savoring the feeling of the sound on his lips. Stretching out his limbs, he gathered himself up. Taking a moment to fold up the blanket and put it back on the couch, he glanced out the window. "Oh." He whispered as awe came over him.

"Here" Derek seemed to appear beside him instantly, a mug in his hand. It didn't look like coffee, but it smelled good so that was something at least. Stiles took his mug and

Derek took a sip from his own. "Isn't it beautiful."

"Yeah." Stiles was never very eloquent in the morning, but even at his most wordy he would have given the same response. There was no sentence, no paragraph, no novel, that could capture the sight before him. The rising sun sat low on the horizon and its rays broke through the dark skies. Just ahead was a small field of what were probably vegetable and a chicken coop to the left, but these things were merely a distraction from the resplendent view just ahead. Hundreds of sunflowers had their backs to them, their yellow petal illuminated like halos by the sun. They stood like soldiers, all in rows tall and true. It was all Stiles could do to not forget to breath. He wanted to go into that field running, jumping about and laughing. A child again as he watched the sun rise and thought back to the last time he had seen the sun come up: already hungover and exhausted after celebrating his bachelor's degree. 

"Only about a month until they're harvested, they still have a bit more growing to do." Derek informed him. 

"Did you know that Native Americans were the first people to cultivate sunflowers." Stiles flicked his eye over to Derek. "They also domesticated a few other crops too, like some types of squash."

"Hmm." The older man nodded and took another drink of tea.

They stood silently a moment longer, eyes on the sunflowers, occasionally glancing at the other. Stiles was sure that the sunflowers more beautiful, but still they failed to hold his whole attention. Not when the man next to him had green in his eyes.

"Hungry?" Derek seemed to be limited to one word at a time questions, but that was alright. 

"Sure." Despite his attempt and playing it cool and casual, Stiles' stomach growled. Derek just huffed a laugh at him as he glared down, betrayed by his own digestive system. 

"I set out some clothes for you on the table, get changed and then we can go get eggs." Derek took Stiles' empty mug out of his hands and lead the way back to the kitchen and the table. There was in fact a red plaid shirt on the table waiting for him as well as a pair of socks and some boxers, still in the package, covered in little hearts. He held them up and raised his eyebrows at Derek. "They were a gift from my sister. I" He paused, glancing down at the mugs in his hands as a gentle red crested his cheeks. "They aren't really my style." 

Stiles smiled wide and laughed, gathering up the clothes. 

"Bathroom is the first room on your right, the toothbrush and such is for you." Derek kept steady eye contact with the mug he was washing. 

"Thank you!" Stiles called as he grabbed the extra pair of jeans he had brought with him on his way to the bathroom. 

Sure enough there on the sink was a new toothbrush, in the package still, and a new tube of toothpaste. With more care then usual, he brushed his teeth and tended to the mess of hair on his head before getting dressed. The shirt was a bit large but all the more comfortable for it. Rolling the sleeves up past his elbows. He did a few final checks before going back to the living room, doing his best to not think about how it was kind of weird to be wearing underwear given to him by a hot stranger. Getting eggs was probably going to take a while, he didn't remember passing a grocery store in the last few miles, but at least that'd mean prime getting-to-know-you time. If he was going to be stuck here in the middle of nowhere, he might as well not spend every waking second of it contemplating how lonely and trapped he was. 

"Alright." Derek walked over and handed him a basket. "Let's go." 

Derek turned around and lead the way out the sliding glass back door. Not toward a car. Nope. Toward a chicken coup. Now, Stiles had experience with chickens, but normally in the packaged meat sort of way. His great aunt had a farm, but he only remembered visiting her once. Luckily Derek took the lead, opening little hinged doors, reaching into nests, moving aside chickens, and grabbing eggs. All Stiles did was hold the basket, but by George was that the most down home thing he had ever done. 

"So do you do this every day?" He asked as Derek opened another little door.

"Yeah, chickens will eat eggs if you leave them." The older man gently set a small egg in the basket.

"Is this breakfast?" Stiles glanced down at the eggs and then over at the chickens. They didn't seem to mind that they were taking the eggs, but it still felt different from buying them at the store.

"Part of it." Derek closed the last gate and set the final egg in the basket. "Would you prefer grits or pancakes with your eggs?"

"Pancakes." Stiles both loved pancakes and was only kind of sure of what grits were. They sounded alright, but he didn't trust foods that he hadn't heard of.

Derek just nodded in response and lead the way back to the house. Inside they kicked off their shoes and set about making breakfast. While Stiles cleaned off the new eggs, Derek mixed the pancakes together and set to work. They cooked together quietly for a little while, but slowly relaxing back into the space, Derek began to softly hum. The tune wasn't one that Stiles recognized, but it was beautiful. Soft and slow, a lazy morning tied up with a ribbon. Finally the last pancake was flipped and the scrambled eggs were finished. Derek set the table and Stiles did his best to help, mostly that involved standing out of the way and moving hot-pads. 

"I'm going to call Erica and see if she can come look at your car today, alright?" Derek loaded up his plate with eggs.

"Okay, thank you. I really appreciate it." Stiles grabbed a small mountain of pancakes for his own plate. "But, like, don't you have other things you need to do?" Like work? Surely this man had a job.

Derek just shrugged. "I've got some work to do in the garden. A fence that needs to be repaired. Greenhouse needs to be checked in on. It's just usual stuff really." Okay, maybe this guy didn't have a job? Stiles was pretty sure it was Wednesday. 

"Anything I can do to help?" Despite his immaculate planning skills, he only had about ten dollars in cash on him. Paying for food and rent wasn't going to be happening any time soon, so the least he could do is chip in. 

"Sure." Derek had no idea what he was getting himself into, Stiles was sure of it.

One hour later.

"So like this?"

"No Stiles, just. Stop. Don't touch anything." 

The two of them were over on the far side of Derek's garden where the wooden fence was in the dirt. Not all of it, just one post had fallen over but apparently that was enough.

"I'm doing my best, okay!" Stiles dropped the end of the two by four he'd been holding onto. Derek holds a finger to his lips, his eyes were wide. "I will not-"

"Stiles!" He hissed. "Please." Slowly, Derek reached out a hand toward Stiles like he's some baby deer in the woods. "Step onto the fence and come over here." Stiles lifts his leg.

"Slowly!" Derek looked like he is about to have a heart attack, and it's starting to make Stiles nervous.

"Derek, what is it." He hadn't moved an inch.

"Just come over here." Moving his hand again, Derek might actually have an aneurysm.

Slowly, Stiles stepped onto a board. Then he saw the rattlesnake by his right foot and decides, fuck it. He pushed off the board and jumps straight into Derek's arms. Derek catches him, stumbling backwards into his apple tree. They land on their asses at the base of the tree, well, Derek lands on his ass, Stiles lands in Derek's lap. For a second they're frozen. Time had stopped. Stiles' face is far too close to Derek's. The tension built and broke in an instant as a high pitched giggle poured out of Stiles. Derek started laughing too, and pretty soon their both rolling in the dirt giggling. 

"I can't" Gasp of breath "believe" another gasp "I almost" gasp "died!" On last gasp before Stiles dissolved, yet again, into a giggle fit.

Derek scrubbed his hands over his face and chuckled. 

"You!" Stiles slapped his shoulder. "You saved my life!"

"I just told you where the snake was." The older man turned to him and rolled his eyes.

"Oh no, don't play coy with me you magnificent life saver." Stiles up righted himself and offered a hand to Derek. With all of his strength, he helped pull the man to his feet. They stumbled backwards a little from the momentum but managed not to fall down again. Bating his lashes dramatically he placed his hands on Derek's chest. "How will I ever repay you?" He said in his worst Southern accent. Derek just laughed and pushed his hands aside.

"Come on let's go get a shovel." Hands thrust into his pockets, he lead the way over to the tool shed. "Here, take this bucket." Stiles did as he was told. Already a skilled basket holder, he was confident those skills would transition to bucket holding readily enough. Derek grabbed a hold of a heavy looking shovel and started walking.

"Hey, not that you aren't great at this and totally know what you're doing, but aren't we headed toward the snake?" He glanced nervously at the shovel. 

"Well, I don't want rattlesnakes on my property. I also need to fix this fence. So." He gestured vaguely between the bucket and the shovel. None of this was reasuring. 

Much to Stiles' relief, they didn't see the rattlesnake again. The fence was put back upright and stable without further incident. No one died. Overal, a success. They spent the rest of the morning working in the garden. It was nice, they chatted occasionally. Stiles found out that Derek has been living out here on his own for over five years now, but every year is whole family comes out for a reunion. Or at least he says they call it a reunion. He's mostly sure that they're checking in to make sure he's still alive. It's not like he doesn't call and write and everything, they just worry. Stiles tells him about his recent visit home, visiting with his dad and Scott. They talk about the garden, about the plants and the plans. By lunch time, Stiles is hot and tired and above all else, hungry. 

"Food?" He asks Derek, knees in the dirt and sweat on his brow. Derek just smiles and nods, gives him a hand standing up, and leads the way. 

They kick off their dirty shoes on the back porch and leave them as they head inside. Derek goes to the fridge and pulls out a green bowl. 

"Plates or bowls?" Stiles asks.

"Either way." Grabbing two bowls, Stiles set them by the container. Derek used two forks to heap spaghetti onto the plates.

"Hell yeah." Stiles whispered, but apparently not quietly enough. Derek snorts out the least attractive laugh, and it is stupidly endearing. He shuffled about awkwardly at the realization before busying himself with grabbing forks. Derek has already put away the rest and tossed the bowls in the microwave when he turned around. 

"Hey, what's that?" He asked, pointing to the piece of paper on the wall by the window. It was long, stretching almost from the molding to the ceiling. "Moon phases?" Stiles reached up and traced along the left side where the months were listed. It was beautiful, but why on earth would a farmer need to know the moon phases. Maybe he was a novice astronomer of some plants needed to be planted on the new moon? A quick glance showed him that the full moon was in two nights. Neat.

"Yeah." Derek turned to him and shrugged. "It's the only calendar I've ever needed." Stiles nodded back as if that made any sense at all. Midwesterners are weird man. 

The microwave beeped and brought Stiles back to the moment. They sat and ate, chatting about the rest of the work to do. 

"Okay, yeah, but what do you do for fun?" Stiles quizzed. 

"Garden?"

"Was that a question?" He teased, knocking his foot against the other man's under the table. Derek huffed out a laugh.

"No. I, I garden. I bake. I like what I do, taking care of my house and property." Derek smiled and took another bite of spaghetti.

"But don't you have, like, hobbies?" Stiles rolled his eyes, thinking of his video games and Scott. 

"I have a guitar. And friends. And other stuff. Hobbies are how people escape from the rest of their life, I don't need to escape from anything here." Derek nudged Stiles' foot back.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard." Stiles punctuated each word with a jab of his fork in Derek's direction. "It's not about escaping, it's all about enjoying your time." They locked eyes and Derek just smiled into Stiles' stark look. 

"I guess." He stood up and took their empty plates to the sink. Stiles smiled, eyes following him.

The door opened and Stiles froze, but Derek seemed to hardly notice. 

"Hey asshole, hear you've got a hell of a problem on your hands." Into the room walked a woman who was equal parts scary and sexy. A low cut gray tshirt and blue jeans were simple enough, but her red lipstick and black makeup screamed 'blondes have more fun'. Well it did help that she was blonde, but even if her hair wasn't blonde, Stiles mused, she still had that vibe. That blonde vibe? He was going mad.

"Hey Erica, this is Stiles." Derek gestured over to him. "His jeep stopped working the other day and he doesn't know why."

"The one over on Old Oak?" She leaned against the counter and flashed her teeth. It seemed a bit too threatening to be a smile.

"That's the one." Derek nodded and began to dry the dishes.

"Alright, I'll go bring it over. Stiles, right? Why don't you join me, give Derek here some alone time. He gets cranky if he has too much company." She winked at Stiles as Derek just pouted.

"I do not."

"Yes you do honey. Now don't worry, I'll have your guy back to you in an hour at most.

"He's not my..." Derek's protest died on his tongue as his friend grabbed Stiles' wrist and lead him off. After a bit of a scramble getting shoes on, they were out the door and into the biggest truck he had ever seen. Covered in mud and dark green underneath, it looked like it could tear Derek's whole house down. With a roar, they headed down the road.

 

"So tell me sweetheart, what on earth are you doing out here?" She glanced over at him but kept her eyes on the road. Now that they were out of the house, she seemed relaxed.

"Just passing through."

"Aren't we all in the beginning." She laughed, gentle and true. "So where were you passing through to?"

"Back to the East Coast for school. But then my poor baby broke down and here I am." He pulled at the fabric of his pants and watched the fields go by. 

"And lucky you being picked up by Derek like that." She turned to him and waggled her eyebrows.

"It's not like that." He blushed. It wasn't a lie, but maybe it could be?

"I know." She patted his knee knowingly. There was no way she was any more than three years older than Stiles, but she gave off such a 'big-sister' vibe that was hard to deny.

"Just be gentle with him, alright?"

"He seems like he can take care of himself." Stiles countered.

"Oh I'm sure he can. But I've got a shovel and thirty acres." Erica laughs again and Stiles joins her this time. They roll down the winds and turn up the radio, forgoing conversation to sing along with the latest hits. Slowing as they creep up to Stiles' car, Erica stopped and backed up so that the bed of the truck is just ahead of his jeep. She hopped out and hooked everything together in only a moment, and soon they were back on the road. Stiles explained how the car had expired and gone to meet the great eighteen-wheeler in the sky, and Erica insisted that she could work miracles. The whole journey only took an hour, but it had felt like a minute. Stiles hadn't so much as seen another person besides Derek for almost 30 hours, and despite how nice of a sight he was, it was nice to talk to someone else. When they arrived back at the house, Derek was on the front porch with a pitcher of lemonade. It was downright Norman Rockwell shit, all picturesque Americana. Stiles yearned to shed a patriotic tear for a split second. 

"How's it look?" He asked as they approached.

"Don't know yet, but I think we deserve a break." Erica grabbed a cookie from the plate and Derek poured them all a glass of lemonade. She sat on his left and Stiles to his right on the long white wicker couch.

"This is delicious." Stiles took care to actually swallow first before speaking instead of his usual method of just talking around the pile of mushed up food in his mouth. "Is there anything you can't make?"

"I'm really bad at crepes." Derek admitted. 

"Do you remember last time Issac was in town?" Erica's eyes widened and her smile grew as well.

"Oh no." Derek's head fell in his hands.

"You see Stiles." She set down her drink leaned forward. "Derek here thought it'd be a good idea to throw a brunch party for our good friend Issac, he drives trucks and isn't around all that often the poor soul. Of course he wanted this to be special, something really nice and fancy for our dear Issac. So what does he do?"

"Crepes?" Stiles interjects, grinning at her as Derek continued to crumble in shame between them.

"Crepes!" She laughs. "So we all arrive at about ten thirty and there he is, flour in his hair and a piles of burnt crepes surrounding him. Most of them torn to tiny bits and shattered! It was such a mess, and me without my camera." The pair of them laughed and Erica patted Derek on the back reassuringly. "We ended up just eating cereal if you can believe it."

"Well at least you are good at other things." Stiles grinned and took another bite of the really just incredible cookies. Damn that man and his magnificent baking skills. "So how do you two know each other anyway?"

"It's a small town." Derek answered. Erica just rolled her eyes.

Erica shook her head and began to tell the "epic tale" of her arrival to Mansan. After running away from boring city life, she stopped at the first town that had only one restaurant and decided to settle down. With very little research but the fire of a thousand furnaces fueling her, she made her way. Derek was one of the first people to help her. He gave her a hand around the house and she fixed his truck. After explaining that the town lacked a mechanic, she took over the position and had been fixing everything from mopeds to tractors ever since. She met Boyd within her first year, and after a two year courtship, Derek officiated the wedding. Erica swears that he cried, but Derek denied it. 

They chatted a little while longer before Erica excused herself to go look at the jeep. Together Derek and Stiles sat, watching the light fade from the sky. For once, they didn't talk a lot, they just sat together, quiet and content. Stiles liked to talk, but not as much as he used to. Now that he was more settled into his skin, he had begun to enjoy evenings such as this. Erica whistled as she worked, and Derek hummed along. The younger man didn't recognize the tune, but it was nice none the less. Derek left for only a moment to get dinner out of the oven, but otherwise they sat side by side. Stiles could feel the warmth rolling off of the other man, his calming presence was built into the property. Glancing over, he saw Derek's hazel eyes watching him. As a smile spread across his face he could see it mirrored just as radiantly back at him. It wasn't love, not yet, not so soon, but it was something. A red string, a thread that could be pulled and twisted to make it more than it was. 

"Thank you." Stiles said.

"Of course." Derek replied. It was more sincere than he had anticipated, but not any more than he meant. "Any time." They sat smiling a moment longer before the noise of the hood of the car closing brought them back to a reality shared by more than just the two of them. 

They sat and ate dinner together, a miss-matched group of near strangers. As he ate, Stiles glanced over at the calendar. And then he glanced again. And again. It was just odd. Stiles stood to grab another paper towel and when he returned Derek was glaring at Erica. 

"What's going on?" he sat down slowly, unsure. 

"Yeah Derek, what's up?" Erica crossed her arms, clearly knowing what was up. Unlike Stiles who continued to shift around in his seat. "Why won't you tell me what you've got planned for the full moon?"

"This isn't the time." Derek insisted. 

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." She shot back. 

"Don't you need to get back to your own house." He stood up, plate in hand.

"Fine. But don't keep people out like this." She took his plate and her own to the kitchen before giving both of the guys on the check and walking out the door. Derek stayed silent as he cleaned up, and Stiles sat there, thinking. 

"You don't have to tell me anything." Even though it's pretty weird that you have a secret full moon thing going on. What are you, a werewolf? The younger man stayed in his seat.

"I." Derek paused, frozen in his place for a moment. "I want to tell you. I just, don't know how." Oh shit, maybe he is a werewolf? That's ridiculous, Stiles berated himself, werewolves aren't real.

"Take your time." He's pretty strong, has a small group of friends, a pack? Is Erica part of his pack? Is that why she stuck around in town? Is Derek going to make Stiles a werewolf??? He stood up suddenly, pushing the chair back. "I need to go for a walk." 

"Please be careful." Derek walked over to a cupboard and pulled a few things out. "Take these." He handed over a large maglite flashlight and a pocket knife. Stiles looked over the black flashlight and the wooden handle of the pocket knife. It was carved into. It was carved with the image of a wolf. Holy shit. Maybe Derek was a werewolf???  
He rushed out the back door, shoes half way on and his hands shaking. This was ridiculous. Or was it?? Stiles couldn't think straight, his mind going off in tangents of escalating ridiculousness. He stumbled away from the house, flashlight in hand. Finding his way into the garden, he sat down on the edge of a raised bed and put his head into his hands. What was he so worried about, mythical monsters? Digging his fingernails into his palms he let his head lift up and stared at the stars. They were beautiful and bright and cold. Distant. He hadn't been in a relationship in a while, and now that it felt possible it also felt like a house of cards. One little whisper or lycanthropic secret and the whole thing would come tumbling down. Not to mention that he shouldn't even be at this house. He should be back in his apartment. Back with his new friends. But all he could think about was if the cute, nice, funny guy inside was secretly a werewolf. Which was ridiculous. There was only one way to solve this. Standing up, he marched back into the house.

"Are you a werewolf?" Stiles slammed the door open.

"Am I a what?" Derek was sitting at the table with a book, a cup of tea, and reading glasses. Stiles was going to faint if he kept this up. It was just too cute.

"Are. You. A. Werewolf? A creature of the night? A lycanthrope?"

Derek looked at him, brows lowered in confusion. He laughed. First a chuckle and then a fit of unstoppable laughter.

"Hey now mister." Stiles came over closer. "This isn't a laughing matter. I'm being very serious."

"I know you are." He wiped his eyes and calmed himself before standing up. Derek smiled down at Stiles. "I can guarantee you that I am not, nor have I ever been a werewolf." HE shook his head. "Werewolves aren't real."

"Then how do you explain all of this?" He gestured vaguely around the house. "A secret room? Sigils? Moon calendar? Wolf knife!" Stiles shook the knife about. Derek reached out gently and held onto Stiles' wrist, calming his movements. 

"Stiles." Derek's thumb rubbed circles into Stiles' wrist. "I'm not a werewolf. And I know how this is going to sound, but you should know." He took a deep breath and looked down. "I'm a witch." 

Stiles' mind went blank.

"A witch."

"A witch." Derek confirmed.

"Ride around on a broomstick cackling black cat owning witch?"

"Not quite." He smiled gently. 

"So why do you pay attention to the moon?" He quizzed.

"Certain things work better at certain times." Derek shrugged.

"Okay." 

"Are you sure?" Stiles didn't know the answer to Derek's question. It was still odd and strange and not what he had expected. He shook his head.

"Why not." He pulled his wrist back to his side, bringing Derek with it. His other hand he reached up and placed on the older man's cheek. It was a weird world, and he might as well enjoy it. Tilting his head up, they leaned into each other and kissed, gentle and soft and with a quiet understanding that neither of them new what the future would hold.

\---

On the night of the full moon, Stiles sat inside with Boyd as Erica and Derek went outside. They drank tea and glanced occasionally out the window to where the other two were casting a circle. 

"So you'll be sticking around?" Boyd asked.

"No." Stiles couldn't. He had a life to go back to, an education to complete. "But I won't be gone for long."


End file.
